The Case of the Irregular Irregular
by Eyebrows2
Summary: Even London's foremost Consulting Detective may be wrapped around a diminutive and grubby finger in certain circumstances. However, yielding to a generous impulse brings disaster to one small boy. Can Holmes and Watson undo the damage? Please R & R!
1. Chapter 1: Injured

**The Case of The Irregular Irregular**

**Chapter 1: Injured**

"WATSON!"

Holmes' strident voice echoed through 221B Baker Street, with more than its usual resonance, as he pounded up the stairs to our sitting room, and burst in through the door.

I was already rising to my feet in astonishment, and I stared at him as he entered. He appeared distraught, his face white and drawn, and he was clutching in his arms what I at first took to be a bundle of dirty rags. To my horror, the bundle of rags resolved itself into a small and grubby child, lying limp and insensible as my friend rapidly carried him through to his bedroom, with an frantic injunction to me to follow.

"He needs your help urgently, Watson, he is grievously injured." I needed no second entreaty, and I grabbed my medical bag as I followed them.

Holmes lay his small burden down upon his bed, and I hissed through my teeth at the sight of the child's face, horribly wounded, recognisable only by the unruly black top-knot crowning his head.

"Oh, Holmes. This is Billy, isn't it?" Holmes nodded straitly as I began to gently examine my patient.

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_ Gently, Watson. More in Chapter Two_

_Please read and review._


	2. Chapter 2: Introducing Billy

**The Case of the Irregular Irregular**

**Chapter 2: Introducing Billy**

Billy was the smallest and newest of the Irregulars. He was between eight and nine years old, but appeared no more than six, and Holmes had initially flatly refused to employ him, declaring him far too young. The child had been persistent though, pleading with him, and twisting his cap between thin little hands, a pathetically eager look upon his face, proclaiming himself to be older than he looked with a comical assumption of maturity.

The persuasion had been completed by Wiggins taking Holmes to one side and explaining that Billy was orphaned eighteen months previously and placed in the care of the parish. This modern day Oliver Twist had been apprenticed to a brute, who had subjected him to all manner of mistreatment until he ran away in fear of his life.

Charlie, one of the kindest of Holmes' young recruits, had found the child curled up in the doorway of the house where he had passed his early childhood, shivering in the January night air, half dead with cold and fatigue and sobbing for his dead mother. Many of our esteemed public figures, who publicly lecture on morality and proclaim their philanthropy, could have taken a lesson from the scruffy little redheaded Samaritan. Despite frequent exposure to the very worst of humanity at its most wretched, Charlie took pity on this scrap, taking him under his wing and bringing him to his own home, and the close knit gang of Irregulars rallied around the newest of their number.

"Fing is, Guv'nor, Charlie's family can't 'ardly feed Charlie, see, let alone anuvva mouf ter feed. An' Billy's Mum, she were a righ' uprigh' laydee, see, an' Billy sez 'e can't stay wiv Charlie's lot if 'e's not bringin' in any dough, see?" Holmes saw, and Billy was hired.

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_ What fool ever said Holmes was a machine without a heart? Oh, yes. I don't think he really meant it. Continued in Chapter Three._

_Reviews remain welcome, as ever!_


	3. Chapter 3: Sharp enough to cut himself

**The Case of The Irregular Irregular**

**Chapter 3: Sharp enough to cut himself**

At first, I believe most of the tasks Billy was set were spurious. Holmes will not allow me to talk much of his philanthropy to his small apprentices in my published accounts, declaring it to be unsafe for them. Indeed, he was chary of allowing anyone of whom he was fond to be mentioned, fearing they may be used as a weapon against him. However, he did indeed take his pastoral role very seriously, and the hoard of disreputable street arabs were gradually moulded into respectable citizens.

Holmes contacts allowed him to find decent employers for the boys when they outgrew their Irregular days, which in turn gave him an unrivalled net of informants amongst all walks of London life. The boys also developed a fierce group identity and loyalty to one another, and above all to their illustrious "Guv'nor". Billy, not least, attached himself to Holmes with a dog-like devotion. Even Mrs Hudson had a soft spot for the nicely-spoken waif, and it was plain to anybody that, of all the Irregulars, this one was the most desperate for affection. Through the medium of cake trimmings from Mrs Hudson, a sympathetoc ear from myself, and the very real, though gruff, fondness from Holmes, the child blossomed.

At first, Billy was very happy to be sent on errands that did not really need running, or watching clients who did not really merit watching. However, he was a precociously bright child, and his natural advantages had been sharpened into shrewdness by his difficult early circumstances. I have often laughed to myself at the memory of the day he challenged Holmes in Baker Street.

He had entered the room, an unaccostomed scowl on his usually sunny face. His lower lip jutted out beligerently, giving the little fellow an endearingly comical aspect I am sure he would have wished to eschew. His whole figure radiated determination of some kind, and Holmes' eyes immediately crinkled, almost imperceptably, in amusement at the sight.

"It's not funny, Mr Holmes." Declared the child, suddenly and indignantly, and Holmes' eyebrows rose in respect. "It's 'portant."

"I am listening, Billy. What have you to say?"

"The cove you sent me to dog, Guv'nor..."

"...you mean the gentleman I sent you to follow, Billy. Your speech was admirably precise before your integration into the Irregulars. I preferred it that way."

The child blushed in confusion, evidently feeling his feet being cut out from under him before he had reached his point, and I felt a pang of sympathy for him. Holmes evidently felt similarly, as he said, far more gently;

"It is, however, far from important for now, although may be important to you in the future. It was rude of me to interupt you. Please continue."

"Yessir. Thank you." I watched the small face progress from chagrin, to anxiety, to gratitude, and then struggle to regain the earlier aloof indignation he had evidently be trying to convey. He almost succeeded, and I firmly repressed the urge to laugh as he re-set his expression, and found his place again.

"The gentleman you sent me to follow, Mr Holmes, Sir. The fat ole'... the large gentleman, Sir."

"Mr Abbot, you mean."

"Yessir. Well, Sir, I watched him, just as you said, for three days."

"Good boy. Did you witness anything of interest?"

Billy fixed Holmes with a stare rivalling Mrs Hudson's, upon discovering the attempt to conceal the hydrocholoric acid splashed upon her new curtains.

"No Sir. I did not. And I have come to believe you did not expect me to."

There was an awkward silence in the room. Strange how the boy could exude such hurt dignity. Suddenly, the situation ceased to be amusing. We all knew now that Holmes had set Billy to watch Abbot specifically because there was no need, and therefore no danger.

Holmes did not deny it. I think he felt, as I did, that he owed Billy more respect than that. Instead, he asked, mildly;

"How did you discover this, Billy?"

The uptilted face reddened again. "I saw Eddy. I asked him if he was watching the fat man as well. He looked suprised, and said 'You watchin' Carr as well, Billy? I thought you were too young for that sorta thing.' I said 'I meant Abbot', and he looked confused, then said 'Oh, yeah, Abbot, right', and looked like he was going to laugh. He then said 'good luck 'bout that', and ran off."

The reproachful eyes turned towards Holmes again.

"I had a feeling then, Mr Holmes. I went and looked for Wiggins, and Charlie, and Morris. I asked all of them 'Are you watching Carr, and they all looked surprised, and said yes, and said well done for being included in the big boys' job."

I ached for the humiliation burning in the child's face, as he relived the discovery that he had been , albeit kindly, duped by his hero. I was also impressed by his workmanlike piece of detective work, revealing the deception.

"Billy, I must apologise for deceiving you." Holmes declared seriously. "However, it was necessary. I really cannot have you undertaking some of the more dangerous tasks the older boys are given – you are too young, too vulnerable, and too inexperienced. Think of the surveillance jobs as training for when you are old enough to be given the real missions."

The reply was mutinous. "The other boys weren't fobbed off with pretend jobs. Why should I be?"

"Because you were not born to their life," answered Holmes, with some asperity by this time. "They are as cunning as rats, and know the ins and outs and byways of the city blindfolded. You will eventually reach that level of familiarity, but you are not there yet, and, until you are, I cannot have you exposed to risk."

"In other words," answered Billy, his voice quiet, "I am useless, but you are pretending I'm not. And you're giving me money I don't deserve, that I haven't really earned. Or does laughing at how stupid I am make it worth it?"

"Billy!" Expostulated Holmes, beginning to sound thoroughly exasperated. "I am not in this business to put little boys in danger of their lives, not to laugh at the very earnest stints you have put yourself through to learn the trade. When you are sufficiently savvy, then you will be of great value to me. Look at Dr Watson here. He spent four years training to be a doctor, then another year to be an army surgeon. He is very useful as a result, but nobody would have given him an operation to do in his first year, would they?"

"You don't exackly have a shortage of boys, do you?" Asked Billy. The child really was far too perceptive for his own good. I was also beginning to suspect that Holmes' arguments were being undermined. The boy was so sharp, he might cut himself. He had fooled three of the older Irregulars into giving up their secrets, and had drawn his conclusions with confident logic.

Holmes had to answer, of course. "No, Billy. I do have a good number of boys working for me. However, whilst it is true that there are a great many waifs and strays who would be keen to earn the odd half-crown, honest, trustworthy, loyal boys are a much rarer, and much more valuable commodity." He smiled at Billy, but there was no smile in return. Instead, the child cried;

"You're _humouring_ me! You don't really mean that! I am useless! I am! And I can't stay working with you if I'm useless, so I can't pay my board, and I'll have to leave my lodgings, and Mrs Hudson, and the Doctor, and you, _just when I'd been so happy!_" The voice became shrill with hysteria, and then the inevitable happened; the face crumpled and Billy burst into tears.

I have rarely seen a child so desolate. I do not think he was merely crying at his present situation, but at every trial he had been sent to bear in his short life; every loss, every misery. At the threatened loss of his newfound security.

Holmes looked appalled, as I did. He nervously approached Billy, and laid a hand on his shoulder. Billy was completely past the point of being able to control himself, and he instinctively buried his face in Holmes' chest, and clutched the detective's jacket with balled fists, howling with misery. I half expected Holmes to flich back, but, after only the slightest hesitation, he did exactly he opposite. He picked the child up, settled him upon his lap upon the sofa, and held him tightly, stroking the dusky curls, his chin resting comfortingly atop the child's head, speaking softly and soothingly to him all the while. His eyes met mine, and he gestured an instruction; to fetch Mrs Hudson, and food. I quietly went to obey, but did not hurry. I felt that the outpouring may do both the child, and the man, some good.

By the time the child had passed from despair, to mortification, to the ravenous hunger and thirst Holmes had predicted, and thence back to serenity, a promise of a compromise had been extracted from my friend: Billy would work for Mrs Hudson in the kitchen as well as running his "training" errands. He would also be allowed to parcipate in the less dangerous of Holmes' cases. As Billy said, his mouth full of cake, and his cheerfulness restored;

"What's so dangerous about finding an old boat?"

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_ Persuasive argument from Billy... but should Holmes have stuck to his intial principles?_

_More in Chapter Four..._

_Please read and review!_

_By the way, does anyone else occasionally really enjoy having a rotten cold? Having avoided it despite working on a kids' ward all winter, I am now coughing, wheezing, feverish and puffing like a steam engine whenever I try to go upstairs. However this means that instead of feeling I have to spend my weekend rushing around as usual, I've been able to spend a guilt-free time finally getting my new stories down on paper (or on screen, more accurately), as I've been wanting to do for ages. Colds are underappreciated! Huzzah for colds! Hope you enjoy the result. Better than someone sneezing next to you anyway._


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